1. The adjustment that recognizes the relation between style and thought. Just as there are different planes of thinking, so there are different levels of expression, from the stately to the colloquial; different colorings, too, from that severity of word and phrase which centres in precisely defined ideas, to that unstudied ease or fervor which is the spontaneous mirror of personal feeling. Of all this the nature of the thought is the first dictator: it is from a vital sense of thought and its prevailing tone that the fitting key of words and cast of sentence rise.

The culture necessary to the perfect adjustment of style to thought is the culture of taste. Taste is to writing what tact and good breeding are to manners. Much of it may be native, the goodly heritage of ancestry and refined surroundings; but much of it is imparted, too, by one's companionship with cultivated people and with the best literature. By his daily habits of reading and conversation, if these are wisely cared for, a man may acquire almost insensibly a literary instinct, which enables him to feel at once what is false in expression and what is true: he is aware when words are eloquent and when they are merely declamatory; when a prosaic word or turn flats the tone of a poetic passage; when a colloquialism impairs dignity as well as when it adds vigor; when the unique word for a vital idea glows on the page or flashes into his questing mind. To profit by such culture is the real joy of literature.

2. The adjustment of the style to the conceptions and capacities of the reader. The need of such adjustment is suggested in the oft-made criticism that an orator “speaks over the heads of his audience," that is, is too inflexible in his individual ways of thinking and speech, does not simplify for the needs of others than himself. Every subject of thought, especially every scholarly subject, acquires as soon as it is specialized a vocabulary, a point of view, a thought

mould of its own. With these the writer moves in familiar acquaintance and intercourse; he thinks in their terms and technicalities. But the reader has to be introduced to them from outside, has to apprehend their truths, if at all, in simplified expression. Much is done by the popular publications of the day to bring learned subjects into the life of ordinary readers; still, much will always remain to be done, the problem that besets the thinker always is, how to translate his thought into the language and conceptions of average minds.

The culture necessary for the perfect adjustment of style to the reader is the culture of broad interests and of the knowledge of human nature. Every well-written book contains evidence that not only its subject but the mind of its reader has been closely studied. To the masterful writer an audience is always imaginatively present, even in the solitude of his study; he writes as if he were conversing with them, meeting their difficulties and adapting himself to their view of things. This is not what is called "writing down" to a reader; rather it is divesting hard thought of its technical dress and exhibiting it in the light of everyday standards. And it is in this direction that literature lies.

3. The adjustment of the style to the writer's self, so that it shall be a true and spontaneous representation of his mind and character. The ability to make this so is by no means a matter of course. A writer's mind may be glowing with the beauty or greatness of a truth, and yet his attempt to express it may result, with his best efforts, only in frigid and stilted language. He may in conversation be perfectly fluent and natural, may tell a story capitally or conduct an argument with spirit and point, and yet write a pedantic or lifeless style.1 The reason is that he has not mastered his medium of

1 "Tom Birch is as brisk as a bee in conversation; but no sooner does he take a pen in his hand, than it becomes a torpedo to him, and benumbs all his faculties."— Remark attributed to Dr. Johnson, Boswell's Life.

communication; the mechanical work of putting down his thoughts absorbs so much of his energy that he cannot be free with a pen. His power over expression needs to be so developed by culture, needs to become so truly a second nature, that his written words shall be a reflection of his truest self, mind and mood alike. Until such mastery is attained, his style belies, not represents himself.

Evidently here is where the culture due to training and practice comes in. The most limpid and natural-seeming style is simply the result of the finer art, which has become so ingrained as to have concealed its processes. Such art does not become unerring with the first attempt, nor with the second; it is the reward only of long labor, and patient subdual of the rebellious elements of expression, until they become an obedient working-tool responding to every touch, and represent not only the writer's thought but himself, in all the rich endowments of his nature.1

Cultivation of literary taste, of hearty sympathy with men and affairs, of skilful workmanship in language; a pretty wellrounded culture is thus laid out for him who would enter the

domain of literary art. Such culture can employ as belonging integrally to its fulness not only a man's whole scholarship, however deep or various, but the power and effluence of his whole character.

The Principle of Economy. The foregoing ideals of style, with their various lines of adjustment and culture, may be reduced to one practical object, which, adopting the central

1 See above, p. 20. — Flaubert thus gives expression to his sense of the relation between his thought and himself: "I am growing so peevish about my writing. I am like a man whose ear is true but who plays falsely on the violin: his fingers refuse to reproduce precisely those sounds of which he has the inward sense. Then the tears come rolling down from the poor scraper's eyes and the bow falls from his hand." - Quoted by PATER, Appreciations, p. 30.

idea of Herbert Spencer's Philosophy of Style,1 we may define as the economizing of the reader's attention.

NOTE. The following is the paragraph of Mr. Spencer's book in which the principle is set forth :

"On seeking for some clue to the law underlying these current maxims, we may see shadowed forth in many of them, the importance of economizing the reader's or hearer's attention. To so present ideas that they may

be apprehended with the least possible mental effort, is the desideratum towards which most of the rules above quoted point. When we condemn writing that is wordy, or confused, or intricate - when we praise this style as easy, and blame that as fatiguing, we consciously or unconsciously assume this desideratum as our standard of judgment. Regarding language as an apparatus of symbols for the conveyance of thought, we may say that, as in a mechanical apparatus, the more simple and the better arranged its parts, the greater will be the effect produced. In either case, whatever force is absorbed by the machine is deducted from the result. A reader or listener has at each moment but a limited amount of mental power available. To recognize and interpret the symbols presented to him, requires part of this power; to arrange and combine the images suggested requires a further part; and only that part which remains can be used for realizing the thought conveyed. Hence, the more time and attention it takes to receive and understand each sentence, the less time and attention can be given to the contained idea; and the less vividly will that idea be conceived."

If we take economizing the reader's attention to mean employing it to the best advantage, this theory of Spencer's requires a more extended application than he gives it. Some kinds of subject-matter, too, require a more strenuous attention than others; and there are various kinds as well as various degrees of attention to work for. The following main applications of the principle are important to keep in mind:

1. The most obvious meaning of economy is, giving the reader less to do; that is, making the words as plain and the grammatical construction as simple as possible, in order that

1 Spencer's Philosophy of Style, one of the classics of rhetoric, is an essay of his volume, Essays, Moral, Political and Esthetic; to be had also separately (New York: D. Appleton & Co.). A well-annotated edition, edited by Professor Scott, is published by Allyn & Bacon, Boston.

the reader's energy, as it is not needed for interpreting the language, may be employed in realizing the thought itself. Every one has observed the futility of a public address when the listeners have to strain their ears to catch the words, or

when the words are indistinctly enunciated. In the same way every ambiguity that has to be resolved, every hard construction that has to be studied out, uses up just so much of the reader's available power for nothing; the thought, with all its interest and importance, suffers for it. Economy begins, therefore, with making the expression plain and easy.

2. But some thoughts are in their nature hard or intricate; besides, what is too cheaply obtained is too little valued, in literature as in everything else; and frequently a thought is prized the more from some effort made to master it. This consideration creates no plea against simplicity of word and construction; that need is universal. But it suggests that in many cases it is true economy, instead of giving the reader less to do, to stimulate him to do more; to use such striking language as sets him thinking or awakens his imagination. This kind of economy is what dictates the use of vivid and suggestive language, picturesque imagery, and skilful phrasing and grouping of ideas; it is the economy which makes up in vigor for what is sacrificed in facility.

It is to be borne in mind also that by the very progress 3. of the thought a reader's attention is continually being used up; it has to be maintained and reinforced. If an image is roused in his mind, if a train of suggestion is started, every such effect must be cherished and utilized; and here is room for the writer's wisdom. For a subject may be so exhaustively presented as to deaden interest; the reader is given no share in the thinking. It is true economy to leave something for him to do; to set him by wise suggestion on the road of the thought, and know what to leave unsaid. It is not easy to give directions for accomplishing this, depending as it does